


te quiero verde

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: green, how i want you green.green wind. green branches.the ship out to seaand the horse on the mountain.





	1. first

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I am SO SORRY for this one. It’s been a challenge to write, it hurt a lot. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Set during seasons 3 and 4. 
> 
> Rated M because like there are sexy thoughts and Silver touches himself at one point, but there’s nothing too explicit. There’s mentions of Silver and Madi’s relationship but nothing explicit there either.
> 
> Title and description borrowed ever so lovingly from Romance Sonámbulo by Federico García Lorca. I love that poem so much, you guys. The title means ‘I want you green,’ and the words in the description are from an English translation of the poem.
> 
> Dedicated to Elle, who asked for pining. I hope this satisfies. <3

It happens slowly, and so quietly he almost doesn't hear it unfolding inside himself.

If he has to hazard a guess, he'd say it began when he first woke up after the gruesome incident that changed his body and his life forever. There was one person there with him, the one who'd been watching over him and tending to him while he was unconscious.

Or maybe it began when he was trying - failing - to cook a whole pig on the beach, and that one person told him exactly what he ought to do (after berating him for making half the crew sick, of course).

Hell, maybe it goes back even further than that. Maybe it was all set into motion when he tore out that page, or when he felt that one person’s body pressing his own into the rocks, holding a knife at his throat, and thought, I shouldn't be getting hard right now but here we are and what does _that_ mean.

He doesn't know exactly when it began, only that it is now, and probably was before too. The little boat rocks beneath Silver, snapping him out of his thoughts, as he and Flint stare each other down out there alone hunting anything and everything, whatever they can find to feed their men.

They wind up with a decent enough haul - shark, of all the possible sea creatures to have to drag back to the ship. It's not much but it's enough to keep them and their crew alive for at least a little while longer.

Silver knows he must be delirious afterwards because he can't help _beaming_ at Flint, who doesn't even seem to realize Silver’s looking at him, much less grinning at him like a fool. Silver beams until his cheeks hurt with it, because he just can't seem to stop.

He hasn't-- he doesn't know this feeling the way he knows fear and pain and anger, the way he knows lust and thirst and hunger. Looking at Flint makes an ache take hold deep in his chest like his ribs are about to crack open, his heart clawing its way out, bruised and bloody. It's akin to lust, to wanting and craving, but...more, somehow.

At least a fraction of it is just plain lust, though: he can be honest enough with himself to admit that. Flint is an attractive man; he'd have to be blind not to see that. He's been attracted to men before, and powerfully so. That's all this is - little more than a particularly strong case of _I want_. He wants to fuck Flint, to be him, both. He wants to make him proud, he cares what Flint thinks of him in a way he's never really cared about that sort of thing before. This ache in his chest feels like lust and jealousy and some bizarre need for Flint’s approval, all stirred up together into a strangely potent fervor.

It goes without saying that he won't, can't, breathe a word of his strange feelings to Flint. It might ruin what friendship they have, rend asunder this uneasy bond they've arrived at. No, telling your captain that you'd either like to fuck him or become him would probably cause some confusion, at the very least. Although knowing Flint, he'd probably just raise one infuriating eyebrow and drawl _yes, and?_

When Silver goes to sleep that night, after the shark-hunting, his dreams are otherworldly, everything in them tinted the same green as Flint’s eyes. He dreams of green waves, green boats, green sharks. He feels green wind in his hair and sees green skies above him. He wants, he needs, he aches, all in green. He wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, so hard it's like he hasn't gotten laid in years, or ever. He manages to get himself off quietly enough, biting down on the flesh of his right palm to keep from shouting while his left hand moves so fast on his cock it's a blur.

He closes his eyes when he comes, and sees only green.


	2. second

This strange, dizzying feeling, it’s like a riptide that's grabbed hold of Silver, catching him unawares and pulling him under. He's drowning in it, can't seem to break free of it. 

He's been infatuated with a few choice people before. He's been attracted to plenty more. But not like this, never like this.

Usually when he finds himself lusting over someone he can't or shouldn't have, he can cure himself of it - talk himself out of the lust - by reminding himself of all the person’s flaws.

So he tries this tactic out on his mental image of Flint one night, lying wide awake, inexplicably unable to sleep.

Flint has a crooked bottom tooth, for starters. It shows when he's talking close to Silver, or whenever he's particularly irritated about something (which is often) and bares his teeth in a snarl. It's distracting, is what it is. A small, eye-catching imperfection in an otherwise remarkably flawless face.

He's also got a lot of freckles. Almost too many. It seems like the more time he spends outside in the sun, on the deck of the ship or traipsing about on a beach - any beach, pick one, doesn't matter - the more befreckled his skin gets. It's ridiculous, really. Who could possibly find all those freckles attractive? Even if they do remind Silver of constellations in the night sky. Even if they are strangely endearing.

Then there's the way he talks. That cultured accent and his expansive vocabulary, good Christ. It's not enough that he's a dread pirate captain, that he cuts an admittedly impressive figure in tight trousers and a long dramatic coat. As soon as he starts talking, people just automatically smarten up and pay attention because he sounds like he knows what he's talking about (even when he doesn't actually know). Silver could read all the books Flint owns ten times over and dedicate the rest of his life to elocution lessons, and he'd still never sound that enviably posh.

Speaking of cutting an impressive figure in tight trousers, who does Flint think he's kidding with those thighs? They're just...obscene is the only word for it. He must get his clothes specially tailored to get them that tight. Or maybe he steals them from ships he raids, and only ever pilfers the trousers of men smaller than himself. He must know what he looks like, how hard it is to focus around him, that egotistical bastard.

Somehow or another this exercise has gone entirely awry. Silver groans at himself, at his traitorous mind, and rolls over to try and go to sleep.

He dreams in green again.


	3. third

When Flint tells him the tale of Thomas, reveals to him what's really driving all this, he thinks, ah, but of course, and understands it deeply and thoroughly even as he feels like a door is being slammed firmly shut in his face.

Even if Flint weren't caught up in waging war against England, against the world at large. Even if Silver didn't have this new and tenuous but promising start of a relationship with Madi, the Maroon Queen’s daughter. Even if none of that had to be taken under consideration, there's no way Silver could ever compare to Flint’s truest love. It's something of a relief, in a strange way he can't quite suss out, and it's another reason for Silver to add to his mental list of Reasons This Could Never Work. It's the most obvious reason yet, and the most true - he simply isn't good enough. He's genuinely surprised it took him this long to work that out.

It wasn't like he thought he'd have much of a chance before, but now he's absolutely certain he never would. Flint deserves a good man, and has known the love of one so good he left his mark on Flint forever. Silver is not that kind of man; ergo his lust for Flint will go nowhere and he's better off ignoring it as he has been thus far. Done. Sorted. 

Why, then, does his chest still ache so?

The night after the battle, Madi kisses him and takes him to her bed and she makes him feel like...she makes him _feel_. It's intoxicating, and frightening - he can already sense himself getting closer and closer to her and wanting to be there for her, and now he's got a vulnerable point where he didn't really have one before. This, he realizes, must be love. He's never known it before, but here it is, making its presence known in the way his heart flutters when she smiles at him, in the way he can't stop thinking about her, in the way he feels safe when she puts her arms around him.

That first night in Madi’s bed, he falls asleep with her curled into his side, one of her hands resting on his chest. He has another verdant dream. He dreams of himself and Flint having a passionate conversation, both of them with green skin and hair, green clothes, green weapons. He's trying to tell Flint what he wants, but his words are coming out as garbled gibberish, and Flint just keeps saying _now I am not I._

Silver wakes with a start in the middle of the night, feeling unaccountably guilty. He looks down at Madi, who's awake also, watching him with keen dark eyes. Her hand is still on his chest.

“What’s wrong? Your heart is racing,” she whispers in the darkness, and he puts his arms around her and pulls her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He doesn't say anything in answer because he can't seem to find the words to explain.

It's not like he expected his peculiarly strong lust for Flint to disappear overnight; he knows it's not that simple. But to be dreaming of him, dreaming in green while sleeping in Madi’s bed makes him feel...unsettled. Nervous. Like somehow he's doing something wrong, even though he's helpless to stop it. Even though they're just dreams.

Aren't they?


	4. last

His life is a blur of rage when Madi is gone. Silver thought his ribs ached like they were going to split open before; now he knows that it's happened and he's bleeding out, he's dying a slow, brutal death. He's driving himself mad, he hurts so. This pain is worse even than the worst he's known so far - he wants to scream and rend his garments, tear out his hair, dig into his own skin with his fingernails until the agony he feels is visible on the outside, too. How can no one else see the blood seeping into his shirt from his wastrel heart? He wants to slaughter the people who caused this, to run them all through and watch the light fade from their eyes. He wants his to be the last fucking face they see before they die.

He fears he cannot go on without her.

Flint somehow convinces Silver to continue - he's the only one who looks at Silver like he can see the gaping wound in his chest, the only one who truly knows the taste of this black rage like bile in the back of Silver’s throat. Silver sleepwalks through his days and dreams in vibrant green at night, every night now. He's a shade of his former self; he wants nothing but to be free of this misery. Is it not enough, what he's already been through? How he's lived? The things he's seen? He just wants an end to it all.

When he gets Madi back, against all odds, he knows what he must do. He dreads it, but knows more than ever now how necessary it is.

He puts his plans in motion and feels sick with guilt at it all, even as he knows - he _knows_ \- what he's doing is the right thing to do. He wishes he could tell Madi, but he knows he can't and it makes the persistent gnawing ache he still carries worsen, deepen, like there's a knife twisting in him.

Pointing a gun at Flint on that island is the worst thing he's ever done. He knows he's talking but he can't hear himself over the ringing in his ears as his heart, that traitor, pumps so fast and so hard he distantly wonders if he'll faint.

He doesn't remember what he said, after. Only that it must've worked, since his plan is taking shape, and he's never despised himself more for it. It's clear Flint despises him for it, too. 

They don't speak to each other on the voyage to Savannah. Silver hardly sleeps, and when he does he sees Flint’s exhausted, furious face staring into his own, staring down the barrel of that fucking gun in Silver’s hand. It's all green; Flint’s eyes are emeralds.

When they finally arrive at the labor camp, Silver doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to see Thomas. He doesn't want to watch their reunion, but he does and it-- kills. Seeing them with their hands on each other's faces, both of them pressing close and clinging to each other, Silver finally experiences a horrible dawning realization. It crashes into him and he feels like his chest is breaking open anew, exposing his raw and desperate heart to the daylight.

He's in love with Flint.

He has been for a long time.

And now there is nothing to be done for it, because Captain Flint has been unmade by Silver’s own hand. Whatever they were to each other before, whatever they could have been in another life - it's gone.

He doesn't have green dreams. He expects it to be a relief but it's not; he wants them back.

He wants - loves - the green.


End file.
